Green and Grey
by cealc hyth
Summary: Erik leaves Paris to build a new life where he was once happy. Christine has retreated to the de Chagny estate to begin her marriage. Will they find contentment? Or will distance only weaken their souls?
1. Where will you go?

**Author's Note: I don't own The Phantom of the Opera or any of its characters and all that good stuff, I just love them. This is a combination of ALW, Kay and Leroux, since I love all three. I've kept some people alive, and possibly killed others off, and I form my own timeline, I like my artistic freedom.**

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**Prologue **

**Two weeks after the disastrous tragedy that resulted from the single performance of Don Juan Triumphant. **

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Madame Giry peered out of the room she was sharing with her daughter and into the small sitting area of the hotel room they had recently taken up residence in. Squinting in the darkness she calmly took in the appearance of her other companion, who was lying on the settee with his long legs hanging off the edge. From her view, Madame Giry thought him so be sound asleep, but his opened eyes were concealed by the arm that was covering his face. She slowly unfolded the blanket in her arms and tip toed across the room to cover the man she thought surely must be cold in the frigid Parisian winter. 

"I see you and I do not want that blanket."

Madame Giry gasped in her surprise and stopped dead in her tracks. She slowly inched over to the small overstuffed chair to her right and sat down.

"I did not intend to disturb you Erik. It is practically a blizzard outside. Your thin trousers and shirt will not keep you warm."

Erik shifted and kicked his shoes off in obvious contempt at Madame Giry's presence and her mothering ways.

"Will you at least add some wood to the fire so that it is not below freezing in this sitting room Erik!"

She could not believe how exasperating Erik could be at times. In many ways he was still like a small boy, needing the affection and approval of others, but refusing kindness and support in all forms. She noticed him bristling at the frustration in her voice and waited for his ever expected anger.

"I do not need the fire! I have no desire to feel any warmth. Go to bed woman and leave me in peace."

"Peace Erik? You will not allow yourself to find peace and dying from pneumonia will not bring her back either."

Erik leaped to his feet and stormed across the sitting room to a completely undaunted Madame Giry. The calm glint in her eyes simply further enraged Erik and prevented him from his intended tirade. He howled as he sat back down on the settee and slammed his fists on the coffee table.

"How dare you mention her! She no longer exists. Why would I _want_ to bring her back? She holds no interest for me in any way. I wish nothing but to leave Paris and forget my time here."

"How can you say she no longer exists? She is the very reason we are in this hotel! I _know_ that is why you refuse a jacket or a blanket and have not eaten anything worth mentioning in two weeks. You allow her to consume you and her memory to eat away what is left of your sanity. This cannot continue Erik! You will be dead in a month! There is no way I can explain why she chose the path she has taken. Not everything in life is black or white, there are unfortunately grey areas. I wish you would allow me to bring you some dinner Erik, it would make you feel better….I…..I….I am sorry for my outburst. I know I've crossed the line but someone has to look out for you."

Erik had to use every ounce of self control left in him to not throw the empty vase on the coffee table across the room. Madame Giry's words had hit him like the first breath of icy cold air when you walk outside and into the snow. He literally felt the frost seeping into his veins.

Madame Giry looked down at her hands as they fumbled with the unused blanket in her lap. Afraid to look over and see Erik's reaction, she began to stand up and head towards the bedroom.

"No! Sit down! You are not getting out of this! I refuse to let you finish our little chat", Erik sneered.

"Yes, you are right. She does exist, but no longer in my mind. Grey _is_ the color I see around her. She is just a blur, just a blur in a life that will be forgotten once it is extinguished. Tomorrow I will eat. Tomorrow I will allow myself to be warmed. But tonight…..tonight….she is still here and when the sun rises, she will no longer be. I will leave Paris. I will begin a new life, one where I will not be known and will not have to acclimate myself." Erik stared hard at the woman who had protected him for so many years, even though he would never admit that to himself.

Madame Giry shifted in her chair as the look on her face went from utter despair to complete curiosity.

"Where will you go Erik?"

"To the only other place I have ever truly been happy."


	2. A Dream and A Decision

**Author's Note: Thanks so much for the reviews! If you have any questions, feel free to ask!**

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"Erik!"

Christine sat up in bed as if she were struck by a bolt of lightening. Beginning to sob, she recalled the nightmare that had just transpired in her slumber. She had dreamt of _him_ again. Night after night, he would return to her dreams. Christine shook at the horror of what had just played in her mind.

_The mob had made its way down to the lair and was converging around the lone, sobbing figure. Erik sat where Christine had left him, staring from the music box in front of him, to the ring in his hand. He did not look up._

_They began to taunt him, to shout obscenities and mock his unmasked face. As the mob became more frenzied, they threw rocks from the shore of the lake and moved in closer. One of the stones hit his hand, knocking the diamond to the ground. Now aware of the peril surrounding him, he quickly looked up. With movements so rapid that Erik did not have the time to register them, one of the guards cocked his pistol and pointed it at him. Erik sensed the danger his life was in and he moved forward…_

_The shot rang out as clear as its victim's blue-green eyes._

This was the vision that had haunted Christine. She knew unquestionably that it could not possibly be true, for Madame Giry had assured her that Erik was indeed still alive. Maybe it was the guilt Christine felt that caused her nightmare. The heartless choice she made by leaving Erik alone did not cause her to deserve the comfort of his life continuing.

"I deserve worse", Christine said through her tears. "I deserve the agony of knowing he is dead. I deserve living with the guilt of his blood on my hands from my cruelty. How could I have done this! All he wanted was for me to love him, and I did! I do still. But what was I supposed to do? I could only think of Raoul dying and my future. I was selfish. I chose luxury over love. God help me. God help me I will rectify my sins. Somehow… "

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It was suppertime at the de Chagny estate. Raoul stood behind his chair, waiting for his fiancé and older brother to arrive. Looking around the table Raoul could see the annoyance in everyone else's eyes. His sister in law Josephine, his little niece Bridgette and nephew Pierre, and his stern Aunt Francine quietly talked. Raoul was thinking about Christine and how dejected he was that she would not set a wedding date when she flew through the door and to her spot by his side. 

"Where have you been?" Raoul inquired.

"I was reading in my bedroom", Christine whispered so the family would not overhear.

"But what kept you? You never come late to dinner."

"I…I was engrossed in the novel I was reading. I lost track of the time."

"No you did not. You are hiding something from me Christine."

"Keep your voice down! I am not hiding anything from you. I was simply reading and I do not appreciate you being so untrustworthy of your fiancé Raoul. This is getting ridiculous! You always question everything I say to you and nev-"

The side door opened with a resounding bang as Philippe de Chagny entered his dining room. He took his spot at the head of the table and motioned for everyone else to sit. The meal began in absolute silence and Christine was grateful for the chance to halt the confrontation with Raoul. Since the morning she had been consumed by her dream and trying to provide herself a way to redeem herself in Erik's eyes and honor her promise to Raoul as well. Maybe Raoul would allow her to visit Erik so they could talk...or maybe Erik would agree to come visit her….maybe she could send him-

"This cannot continue any longer."

Forks scraped and mouths dropped when Philippe broke the silence with his ominous statement. Josephine looked quizzically at her husband and Christine stared at her lap, knowing this assuredly was about her.

"What are you talking about Philippe?" asked Raoul.

"I am speaking of your _dear _fiancé. A date for this wretched wedding must be set. People about town are speaking of this household in an unflattering fashion. They are saying that Christine is your whore and that I am running a whorehouse since you will not marry. I will not tolerate this! It has been almost a year since the engagement was announced and she moved in. Either marry within six months or you will both be ordered out. You are quite old enough to settle into your own home Raoul and there you can continue as you wish."

Tears were brimming in Christine's eyes and she dared not look up at the faces around the table that were undoubtedly staring in her direction. Philippe maintained a look of complete calm and smugness as he waited for his younger brother to respond. Raoul cowered in fear and quickly glanced at Christine. He knew that if he wanted to keep her at his side, he had to act. This was the defining moment in which for once, Raoul needed to fight for the love he so recklessly threw about.

"Philippe, this is not the place to have this discussion. Could it not have been saved until after dinner? It is completely unnecessary for you to repeat such horrible and untrue remarks about Christine. I think that she and I will reason about setting a wedding date this evening and in the morning you will be informed. Let us all return to our meal and talk of pleasant things. Pierre, how was your riding lesson today? Did your instructor allow the horse to gallop while you were on it?"

While Raoul's mediocre response to Philippe's tirade satisfied the rest of the family, Christine knew that Philippe was still as unconvinced as she. His eyes were piercing into her temple and felt the familiar feeling of anger and dread creeping over her. Not for one moment had she felt at home in Raoul's world. Not once had Raoul defended her honor when his relatives slandered her name and once again he had failed appallingly. Day after day, week after week, and month after month, Christine had watched as the de Chagny family grew to hate her more and Raoul even began to treat her as a child. No longer did the two go for long walks and embrace each other with desperation and tenderness. Christine did not see the boy she loved anymore when she gazed upon her future husband. Instead, she saw someone who neither knew her true self, nor honestly loved her.

"I will write Madame Giry tonight. I know she will help me find Erik", Christine thought as she excused herself from the table and retired to her chambers.


	3. Happiness or Desolation

**First off I want to thank you all again for the reviews! You have no idea how much joy they bring me! I am sorry it took me so long to update, but I am a working college student and things can get pretty hectic around here.**

**Second, I believe it is time for me to give a shout out to my Muses. You know who you are! Thank you so much for your ideas, critiques, squees and constant urgings to make me write more. **

**A/N: I have changed a small section of this chapter. I had put something in as a split second decision and the more I read it, the less and less I liked it. It just doesn't fit right. SO, please read through again (that is if you want to LOL), so you can see the change! I actually really like what I put in instead. **

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Erik twirled the small knife in his long fingers and stared out the open window across from his desk. He longed to continue gazing at the magnificent architecture in front of him and not face the realities of his life. The setting sun caused the city to glow with a radiant orange fire. Next to a dinner plate laid the most recent letter from Madame Giry. She had been writing Erik since he left Paris and settled into his new residence. Every letter was read but rarely responded to. What was the point of informing her about the mundane happenings of his life? Surely she could not still be interested in the well being of a former opera ghost. He tore open the envelope with as much grace as a drunken stage hand and proceeded to read. 

"…_Meg and I are faring rather well this month. While there was never an actual need for it, your monthly envelope of funds will most assuredly not be necessary now. Not to imply that we are ungrateful, for we appreciate your generosity greatly, it is just uncalled for at this point. Giving private ballet lessons to these wealthy brats is proving to be most profitable and Meg is happy in her nanny position. So far they have not begun any renovations on the opera house and I am quite confused…"_

Erik knew the rest would only be about the former Opera Populaire and the current news of Paris high society. No interest to him. So his gift of five-hundred francs a month was no longer needed was it? That was a bold faced lie. Madame Giry hated teaching private lessons and not instructing a ballet corp, she lived for the satisfaction of seeing her girls on stage. It was preposterous to think Meg could enjoy being a nanny in even the slightest way. As simple minded as she was, Meg knew she shined on the stage and was surely in agony at having to leave her dream in the past. There was no question about it, the small packet of money would continue to be sent out and Madame Giry was too intelligent to refuse it. Erik began to write a brief note to accompany his monetary contribution and there came a knock at his chamber door.

"Yes?"

"Pardon me signore, I have come to relieve you of your dinner tray."

"Come in."

Erik stood as his one servant entered the room. Stella Giamarco was a pleasant local girl of twenty two years. She had served Erik since he bought his home and moved from the small, and rather dingy in his opinion, apartment. Stella raised no questions about Erik's mask or any of his odd behavior. In fact, she rather admired her master, for she had seen his current project at work, and secretly listened when he played his piano late into the evening. As eccentric as Erik was, Stella believed him to be a good man who had somehow been wounded tragically in his life. She cleared the remnants of his supper and turned to find him staring determinately out the window.

"Is there anything else I can do for you signore?"

"No Stella, you may retire for the night. In the morning I need you to go to the bank and bring back the usual amount converted to francs. My new dinner suit should be finished so drop by the tailor's as well."

"Of course, goodnight signore."

The large double doors closed with a thunderous bang behind her. Erik sighed and stared into the twilight that engulfed the magnificent city. He could barely make out the forms of the two tower cupolas on the Trinita dei Monti. Just this very morning, before the rest of the world was awake, he had climbed the numerous steps of the Piazza di Spagna to study the architecture of the beautiful church. Though he sought no comfort in religion, Erik found the design and ornamentation of churches to often be the most stunning. As unorthodox as it was, he used these structures as inspiration for work. In fact, the entire city inspired not only his designs, but his music as well. Erik knew why he had returned to this place. Even though the memories of his youth were painful, the pleasant memories far outweighed the haunting ones. Other than his years in Paris, this was the one place Erik had truly found joy. Rome. It was the source of his first heartbreak and perplexingly, a place he felt able to start new and forget the woman who had ceased to haunt his dreams.

He slowly forgot her, day by day. It was like peeling off layers of water soaked wool clothing. Each memory weighed a thousand pounds and forgetting one made it that much easier to breathe. If he could disregard the agonizing past, Erik felt that life would become bearable. As long as she was in his mind, he could not be happy. Erik refused to have any grey areas in his life. Everything must be black or white, hot or cold, happy or sad. There was no logic to Christine. No logic to why he had loved her. No logic to why she left. No logic to why he had still cared.

"She is the grey area", he said aloud, slumping into the window seat. "I must continue to shut her out….she no longer gives me life, but destroys it instead. She is a grey fog...surround me...suffocating me".

He sucked in the sob that threatened to escape his chest and looked down to the courtyard that his home wrapped around. Stella walked past the center fountain and disappeared into her quarters. This was when he played. He would play his beloved piano and violin for hours on end. Until the memories were gone and all that remained was music. The beautiful, loving, painful music. No matter where life turned, Erik always could turn to music to save him from himself. Walking across the room he picked up his violin and began to play. He played until his mind was lost in a tune never played before, a composition born of love and hate. The music consumed him and Erik forgot who he was, and all that tortured him. He played until there was no strength left in his arms and finally, the wounded man succumbed to sleep, where she no longer remained.

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Diego Ceravula looked up from the building plans laid across the table before him. He was a wealthy and well respected builder in Rome and his latest projects were no doubt becoming the talk of the town. Business was booming at this time of growth within the city. Since the fall of Napoleon in 1870 had allowed Italian troops to reenter and occupy Rome, in it had become the capital of Italy. It was this that launched the surge in construction under which entirely new quarters were being built. Currently, Diego's company had been working on a new palace for a local aristocratic family. They were extremely wealthy and because they were so incredibly pleased with how the structure was coming along, they gladly paid Diego every cent he solicited. Yet as much as he enjoyed the additional money and recognition, Diego could not help but feel guilty. For it was not himself that created the spectacular new design elements, but was his new foreman. 

"Excuse me Signore Ceravula, Erik has arrived", said Pasqual Tucci as he quickly retreated from the now open office door. Erik strode in and remained standing even after Diego motioned for him to sit.

"Sir, I do believe that I told you the columns for the west wing of the servants quarters had to be completed by Monday, which is today", said a frustrated Erik.

"Erik, my friend, my collaborator, my favorite foreman. Why do you allow yourself to be agitated so easily? The workers will have it done by sunset, I am sure of it. Try not to forget yourself. Remember it is I who signs the checks. Don't you make that face at me, you know how I love to rile you. Pasqual is skilled at striking fear into the hearts of my many lazy employees while also maintaining their admiration, so do not fear. Your columns will be complete when you return in the morning."

"Thank you Diego. I am quite eager to begin work on the performance hall. It delights me that the family is inclined to have one, whether their interest in music is genuine or simply to make a good impression within their social circle."

"Why is it you are so passionate about this performance hall? You have never mentioned any curiosity in music before", Deigo inquired.

"Ah, well. For the vast majority of my life, music was my salvation."

"And now?"

"Now I have architecture. Music is my past. I live in the present. Dwelling in the past is dangerous for me."

There was an awkward silence as Erik suddenly realized how much he had revealed. Diego cleared his throat and shifted in his chair.

"Perhaps we should stop for the day. I am weary of work for now", said the ever decorous Erik.

"Yes! Of course, dinner at my house?", asked Diego.

Erik nodded while Diego stuffed papers and drawings into his portfolio to take home. He wondered about his mysterious friend and why he was so secretive about his former life. It had been seven months since Erik had noticed Diego's work around town and approached him with some ideas for the palace. Having been in the business for over twenty-five years, Diego was astonished at the unprecedented exceptionality of the architectural plans laid before him when he met Erik. There was no doubt that the masked man was a genius and over the months, the two had formed a warm friendship. Erik was grateful to have a friend, as was Diego. At fifty-one years of age, Diego Ceravula considered himself too young to be a widower, but could not fathom replacing his beloved Ciara. The two men continued their carefree banter as they left the office to go home early, for the pace of construction was due to increase in the next few weeks and then there would be no time for relaxation.

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Meg Giry hurried in from another day attending to the spawn of careless and greedy aristocrats to find her mother sitting at the kitchen table with her head in her hands. 

"Mother! What is wrong? Have we not got enough money for rent this month?"

"No darling…well, yes we have enough for rent…but…I have a letter from Christine. She is asking me for a way to contact Erik", responded an anxious Madame Giry.

"No! This cannot be good. He is doing so well in Rome and hearing from Christine would only reopen the pain in his heart. I love Christine, she is like my sister, but I do not think we can allow this."

"Meg, I cannot lie to Christine, she knows I am in contact with him. To refuse to help her would break any trust that has grown between us over these many years. I do not believe she has anyone else to turn to for assistance or to call her family. It is not for us to decide what she chooses to do or how Erik will react." Madame Giry pulled out her stationary and began to write a letter that would lead to the complete upheaval of the lives belonging to two people she loved as much as her own daughter.


End file.
